Hell Hath No Fury
by seren-mercury
Summary: Crack!Fic. Don’t anger the gods, they know where you live. No seriously. They have rolodexes and everything.


**A/N:** Too much fanfiction. It causes strange, unexplained cerebral collapses. Like this.

**Disclaimer:** I'm not sure where to start. But um, all in good fun, just made to make us giggle. Slight Season Six misgivings references, so beware. If you loved where things went you may not like this.

**Summary:** Crack!Fic, don't anger the gods, they know where you live. No seriously. They have rolodexes and everything.

**Title:** Hell Hath No Fury

"Wake up." She said, punctuating the remark with a hard kick of his mattress. When there was no response she growled in frustration and slammed her heels into the bed with greater force, something eased by her perch against his dresser. "Wake. Up."

Finally he rolled, disoriented and disheveled, landing on the floor in a tangle of sheet and limb. She had already viciously ripped his comforter to the side upon arrival. With bleary eyes and an unsteady hand he managed to pull himself upright and glare at the intruder. Rationally he knew he should be frightened, but as the prowler was a young girl with a sweet face he hardly felt he was in any danger. He was wrong.

"About damn time." The brunette muttered, clapping her hands together. The motion snapped the lights on in the bedroom. Odd, considering he didn't remember having such a feature. "No wonder I'm dying." she continued, tone implying she was talking to herself.

He tried to shake the remainders of his recent REM cycle from his clouded mind and process the strange event taking place. "Who the hell are you?" He managed, indignation evident. The writer stood now and back towards the wall, reaching the maximum distance from the young woman. "What are you doing in my house?"

"You should know Brennan. Considering that you've put a hit out on me." She answered harshly. To say he was shocked was to say he was breathing. "I mean are you kidding me?" She threw one of the many discarded decorative pillows at his head. "Are you freaking kidding me!" Another hit his chest, followed by another.

"What in the blood-" He started but she cut him off.

"Do you see this?" The girl questioned, stepping forward and pointing to her plain black t-shirt. "The thread is coming undone. Undone Brennan! Undone!" This time she smacked him across the face with the bedding accessory, accentuating every word after the first 'undone' with a blow. "Do have any idea what that means? I might as well be the Roswell Fandom God and pimp myself out to fourteen year old self-impositioners who steal lines from Nora Roberts books." She hit him three more times. "You. Stupid. Stupid. Jackass!"

"Roswell what?" Shane asked tentatively, sure now that he was dreaming, despite the pain.

"Get with the program Brennan." The girl retorted sharply. "I mean look at me." She gestured to the length of her frame. "Hello? Dying Fandom God."

He did as he was instructed, hoping to understand what she could possible mean. She seemed normal enough. She was a better than average looking brunette. Her dark hair reached down past her collarbone in distinctive asymmetrical thick waves. An aforementioned sweet countenance, slightly marred by a scowl, resided on her heart shaped face. Her skin tone implied that she wasn't completely one race or another, coupled with her features and the pigmentation of her locks he'd guess Middle-Eastern and Anglo-Saxon. She had large, expressive-if the glare was any indication-brown eyes that seemed familiar, as was the feral grin she flashed him. The clothing she wore was rather nondescript, plain jeans, plain black shirt, and plain black leather belt, plain black and white Converse All-Stars. All in all nothing screamed Supreme Being.

"Well?" She pressed. When he opened and closed his mouth she groaned. "I should have known." It was said under her breath. "I'm a fandom god dumb ass." She cried, throwing another pillow.

"You're the god of…fandoms?" Shane questioned incredulously.

"No, that's ridiculous, I'm _a_ fandom god, not The Fandom God." The self-proclaimed deity replied with ill contained disdain "As if he would ever bother with your sorry ass." She seemed to add as marked criticism.

"So you're a god." She nodded. "Of **a **fandom." Another nod. "Which one?" He humored, doing little to conceal his disbelief.

"You know for someone who's supposed to write mystery-like procedural-type crime stories you are like the worst deductive reasoner ever."

"My fandom?" He tried. "I mean, NCIS?"

The so-called divine being crossed her arms over her chest and blew an errant strand from her face. "Tell him what he's won Bob." Enough sarcasm dripped from every word that he was tempted to check his carpet for stains.

"So, uh, you being the NCIS _Fandom_ **God** and all…what are you doing in my bedroom at three in the morning?"

"Technically it's two fifty seven in the morning. And I wouldn't have to be here if you weren't busy trying to pull a Abrams on me." The brunette narrowed her eyes. "Do you have any idea how whiny the Lost Fandom God has gotten these past few years? I was this close to pulling my Sig on him and just ending it right there. I mean we can't like die-die, but it's a principal thing." She leaned against the far dresser again. "The Browncoat almost did just that, but he's not as trigger happy as The Brothers MacManus."

"Is that so?" He hedged, wondering if he could reach his cell phone before she could loose more of her cushion arsenal.

"Your phone is dead, you forgot to charge it in your car on the way home after you left the studio."

"How did-"

"I'm a god remember? Please. It's just like how I know about all that Barney/Robin fanfiction you have on your hard drive."

"But nobody-"

"Is supposed to know that you ship like a sixteen year old Spuffy fan?" She blew a bubble with gum he didn't remember seeing her chew and let it pop. "Me." She pointed to her self with both thumbs. "God. You." She gestured with a single index "Not so much." The girl snapped her gum. "And 'tax records' is like the silliest code file name in the history of Trek. Sad young padawan, very sad."

"I don't-"

"You aren't supposed to." The brunette pushed off of her perch and walked towards him, he flinched and felt her roll her eyes. "If I wanted you dead I would have made with the fan!girl army like Supernatural's Guardian plans to next fall. Ostroff is just **made** of fail, continuing the series without Kripke, might as well just ask the whole damn community to fall on a giant pie." She was shaking her head.

"Am I meant to understand any of-"

"As if Brennan, your head is so far up your ass you're lucky I didn't bring some mean ass hater-Gibbs with me. Which I can do by the way. In case you go forgetting what I tell you tonight. If there has to be a next time I'll get myself a Dark!Tony and a Crusading!Gibbs and it will be **on**."

"Why are you here?" Shane finally asked. She regarded him heatedly for a moment from her inferior height and he fought the urge to cower. Small she may be but there wasn't any denying that she was damned intimidating for a bit. Part of him wanted to believe it was a dream, or she was some crazy stalker fan exacting revenge, but he knew better. Knew in that section of himself that knew things fell when you dropped them, rain was wet and fire burned.

"You see this, my belt, it's tarnished." She ranted. "And here, look, this is a scuff. My shoelace acelet is cracking and I think I might be getting a cavity. A cavity Brennan!" She poked him.

"And this has something to do with me?"

"Well duh head writer. You think I'd be here if-" She clenched her jaw. "Now I'm not saying it's all your fault. But I am saying that you'd better fix it."

"Fix wh-"

"I'm not finished!" Her foot stamped. "I have writers leaving me! Leaving! Because you've got them all disheartened and discombobulated. And not just crappy dialogue hacks who don't know the difference between Ducky's voice and McGee's." She was pacing and her hands circled in wide arcs as she spoke. "I'm talking about deep and insightful Tony character work! Long, involved, believable, plotted AU's Brennan!" She rose to full height, still half a head below him. "Do you know hard it is to find those piece authors?" He made to answer but she cut him off. "Serious Gibbs study and well characterized Tiva explorations. That's what you're taking from me Brennan. My looks are starting to fade! The other day I found a blemish! Gods do not get blemishes Brennan! Not when our followers are taken care of."

"Well how is that my fault?" He sputtered, balking under her intensity.

"I'm not going to say it started with the team's reaction to Tony's death in season five because that's just mean. And I wouldn't bring up the plot holes and the total lack of continuity when it comes to certain back stories, because you know." She paused for a glare. "You better know." Her accusing finger was inches from his face.

"But the real mess started with the Michael storyline this year," She continued as she sat on the edge of his bed, her tone somber "I mean first the whole killing of a federal agent on U.S. soil, then Ziva accusing Tony of murder and don't even get me started on the team dynamics in like all of season six because I might have to break something." As it turned out her eyes _were_ quite expressive, as he found when she turned them on him full of vinegar and gloom. "What happened to my show?" She asked in a whisper.

"The fans…" He tried. "They were going to love it. We were…we **are**…we…"

"Oh really? Because love is not what I am feeling in my family Brennan. I'm feeling a whole lot of righteous indignation. I get the occasional downright livid, but love is not reading on my Geiger counter." He was rather surprised when she pouted and felt compelled to sit beside her.

"The premiere is going to be unlike-"

"Do not quote your own Guide interview to me Brennan!" She huffed. "Just fix it!" The girl stood. "I don't care what you have to do, I don't care what kind of favors you call in or how many hours you spend re-editing! You bring show back or so help me I will send Assassin!Tony after you!"

"There's an Assassin!Tony?"

"If you prefer I could send Slash!Tony. He can be _very_ persuasive. Just ask AlmostSlash!Gibbs."

Shane choked on his own air. "I don't think-" Her unnerving laugh interrupted him.

"Just fix it Brennan. Because if I see one split end I swear on my archive you will regret it." With that she moved towards the door.

"Wait!" Shane called, reaching a hand out as if to stop her. She spun and faced him. "Do you have a name or?"

"Ecivres Evitagitsevni Lanimirc Lavan." At his stunned look she gave him that same familiar predatory grin. "Most people just call me Elle."

He doesn't remember falling back asleep. When he wakes up the next morning there's no sign of his visitor. He tells himself it must have been a dream. All a crazy dream induced by long hours and the upcoming season.

He changes his locks six times anyway.

He has an electrician check the wiring in the whole damn house, because you never know.

Half of the time he feels like someone's watching him, and the voice, her voice tells him that's it's because she is.

He encrypts his 'tax records' file.

Sometimes he hears that same laugh and usually drops whatever he's holding.

His assistant refuses to let him have caffeine after three now.

Either way he calls an emergency writer's room conference the next day.

Just in case.

* * *

**A/N:** You can say it, I've officially lost it. it's cool. And if you've already guessed what her name really means and why she looks the way she does than you win a prize. Just drop me a review telling me how utterly brilliant you are and I'll get those virtual gold stickers sent your way. Not that I'm trying to trick you in some contrived attempt to get reviews. I would never.


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